


On the Complexities of Courtship and Clandestine Activities

by Dizzydodo



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, Courtship, Dubious Consent, M/M, Pon Farr, Soul Mate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2017-12-26 01:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzydodo/pseuds/Dizzydodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, non-reformed Vulcan.</p><p>After Vulcan is destroyed in an ongoing war against an oppressive Terran regime, young Jim Kirk meets Spock and quickly loses him again, but not before the Vulcan leaves a lingering impression.<br/>Years later, he finds himself sharing a cell with a very familiar Vulcan.</p><p>Spock has no intention of surrendering Jim, but between spear-heading a rebellion and courting his reluctant mate, the course of true love couldn't be less smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Famous Last Words

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: So I tried to to go back and edit this chapter for grammar/spelling/what have you, and somehow irreparably screwed up the formatting in the final part.
> 
> Maybe one day I'll figure out?

The Vulcans gathered in the square before convocation hall ranged in age from early adulthood to the elderly, their skin from palest parchment to burnished ebony; the only traits they shared were those impossibly dark eyes, glittering with banked aggression, and the peculiar tip-tilted ears that Jim had so admired until his mother had whispered a sharp reprimand to look away before leaving him here among the gathering.

The one that had caught Jim's eye was a small boy near the front. Jim guessed them to be roughly the same age, maybe twelve or a little younger, but this frail boy stood at least a head taller than he, and so thin Jim thought he could count the boy's ribs individually if he were a bit closer. The dark eyes were the same, the intriguing ears, but unlike his companions this Vulcan did not look so much angry as resigned. The others fidgeted and whispered among themselves, frequently looking out over the superior number of Terrans and drawing in ever closer to each other, but the youngest hardly took his eyes from the door of the council chamber. Interesting.

Jim found himself slipping through the crowd quietly in the hopes of getting just a little closer. His insatiable thirst for knowledge was going to be the death of him one day, Jim embraced that fact as completely as he did everything else about himself.

For days after the destruction of their planet the nets had been abuzz with speculations concerning the Vulcans. Every report he had surreptitiously listened to painted them as warlike demigods capable of destroying even the strongest human with hardly more than a thought. To have so many of them gathered here, even under a makeshift truce, had everyone on edge.

Word spread that Sarek, ambassador of the Vulcan people, and his traitorous whore Amanda Grayson had come in person to attempt to negotiate a treaty that would provide for a sector of safe space owing its sovereignty to what little was left of Vulcan's governing council of elders.

Winona was in the great hall with them. She had no official duties to perform, but Winona Kirk was a great believer in the old adage "forewarned is forearmed," she had taken great care to ensure she would be present when the momentous decision was made. Jim had pleaded with her not to go, visions of her being torn apart by the angry Vulcans and himself left alone at the less-than-tender mercy of Frank danced through his head. Everyone knew how the council would vote. After years of aggressive warfare between their planets, the few surviving Vulcans were stranded on Earth as barely tolerated refugees. Their heroes were dead, their military decimated all in one brilliant coup.

Young as he was, Jim knew how this was destined to play out. He had seen it after the destruction of Romulus, and again after Bajor: New Vulcan would be administered by Terrans if the planet was allowed to exist at all. Ambassador Sarek and his wife would become "honored guests" of the Alliance, while Vulcan military leaders and their families would spend what was left of their lives in the myriad prison camps Alliance officials insisted did not exist.

Yet there was a child among the Vulcan ranks.

 

Jim neatly dodged around the milling bodies of Terrans and Terran-sympathizers, cautiously circling the Vulcan party. There were only a dozen or so, representatives from the Vulcan council of elders or faces Jim associated with the revolt, which made the boy all the more interesting. Why would he be included in a diplomatic delegation?

The boy glanced up, their gazes locking across the few feet that separated them. Jim stumbled over a non-existent obstacle, forgetting to breathe in the stress of the moment. His gut twisted with a pang of fear and helpless anger, a perfect mirror of the thoughts he had seen reflected in the Vulcan's gaze. The Alliance claimed Vulcans were savages, incapable of governing even their most primal instincts- Jim wasn't certain he believed that line, but it was true that there was nothing remotely human in those eyes.

He pushed forward regardless, slipping away from grasping hands that might have sought to pull him back, drawn inexorably forward by a compulsion he couldn't name. It took Jim a moment to realize he was standing in the makeshift No Man's Land. The Vulcans were gathered just ahead, a few of them only now beginning to notice the Terran child advancing on their ranks, and Terrans just behind, most of them pointedly not looking anywhere in the vicinity of their conquered foes.

The Vulcan boy turned away from him at the touch of a hand on his shoulder, an older male leaning down to whisper lowly in his ear. Shock and uncertainty warred in his expression before the boy cast a questioning glance back at his elder. Whatever his misgivings, he advanced into the neutral zone.

Ever bold, Jim closed the distance between them without further thought, curiosity easily overcoming the voice of caution. The Vulcan boy only eyed him suspiciously, searching gaze sweeping over Jim's face before locking with his bright eyes; his fear seemed to have been eclipsed by like-minded inquisitiveness. That, at least, was a look Jim recognized very well.

"Who are you?" Jim willed himself to be silent, forcibly clamping his jaws shut, eyeing the Vulcan elders cautiously.

Winona had drilled it into him at a young age that whomever spoke first was invariably the weakest in a confrontation. Somehow Jim's quick tongue still outstripped his thoughts most days. He swallowed tightly; the Vulcans were watching him now. All of them. He had hoped to evade their notice, hadn't thought they would permit him to draw near if they caught sight of him, but now every one of the group was fixated on the exchange between the two children, murmuring softly enough that Jim couldn't hear them over the dull roar of the crowd.

"I believe it is customary to introduce oneself first." The Vulcan boy snapped, confusion writ in every line of his face from winged brows to tight-lipped mouth.

"James Tiberius Kirk. Who're you?" He couldn't help the defensive tone, the soft rebuke stung far more than it should have. Jim quickly began to reconsider his amateur fact-finding mission.

No answer was immediately forthcoming, and why should it be when they had had been at war not a month ago? Jim shuffled uncomfortably; was it his imagination or had the entire Vulcan party stilled when he spoke his name? Impossible. They were too far away to hear, and the Kirk name was nothing remarkable unless the name preceding it was "George". Jim didn't think the Vulcans would consider George Kirk as much of a hero as the Terran Alliance did. His role in their eventual downfall was still fresh in most minds.

This was a bad idea, he shouldn't have approached the Vulcans, let alone tried to engage one in conversation. For the first time, Jim was grateful his mother had left him here to attend the conference since it meant she wouldn't see his latest screw-up. Winona would have had his head for this impetuous act; the last thing their family needed was an accusation of being rebel sympathizers.

That thought was enough to send a chill racing through him. Jim had just begun his retreat when a single word stopped him in tracks: "Spock."

The answer was short and clipped, but it was an answer, and for all Spock's face was a study in surprise and distrust, Jim saw neither blame nor fury there. He covered his relief by blurting out the first words that came to mind; seldom a good idea, Winona cautioned, but it had been Jim's Modus Operandi for as long as he could remember and he was still in one piece.

"I thought Vulcans would have fangs or something." The nets had made such a fuss about what superior predators the Vulcans were that Jim had expected something a little more… awe-inspiring. He was distinctly underwhelmed. Disappointed even.

The boy started, uplifted brows twitching into an annoyed frown that temporarily eclipsed his obvious wariness. "For what purpose?"

Jim smiled, small and quiet, "You talk like an old man." Nevertheless, as they spoke he could feel his fear ebbing away, giddy nervousness calmed by the forced normalcy.

Spock scowled impressively and threw a beseeching look in the direction of his elders, though they gave no indication that they had seen his mute plea.

"You could almost be Human." Jim didn't miss Spock's flinch, held his hands up in a placating gesture when it appeared the Vulcan might abandon him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it in a bad way." It was just that, between the distinct lack of fangs or claws and the ears a little more rounded than his elders, Spock might have been mistaken for a human… on a dark night with no moon by a drunk man who couldn't see a wall in front of him until he ran into it. Jim was sure he'd never seen another Human with quite this much self-possession; Spock at least was a far cry from the violent barbarians apologetic scholars insisted made up the majority of Vulcans.

"Why are you here?" Spock huffed. Jim's careful smile turned into a grin at the obvious annoyance. Annoyance was a reaction he was accustomed to dealing with after years of interminably long state functions and his desperate attempts to liven them up so he wouldn't die of boredom.

"Why are you talking to me?" Jim countered, an edge of mockery to his tone.

Spock's head tilted slightly. "I do not know."

"Neither do I."

Spock clearly didn't believe him, but it was the simple truth. Jim didn't know what had made him think this was a good idea but so far nothing had happened to prove him horribly wrong, so obviously it wasn't a bad idea. He didn't think "I was bored," would have gone over any better, though that too had the benefit of being true.

Since Spock clearly wasn't going to take over the conversation any time soon, Jim opted for a little more honesty, "My mother's in there." He nodded toward the massive doors of the convocation hall, representatives swirling outside, journalists gathered to report on whatever news emerged.

Spock swallowed, nearly turned back to glance at his elders, but straightened his shoulders and met Jim's eyes squarely instead. "Mine too." He looked toward the convocation hall almost instinctively.

It clicked. Spock's relative frailty compared to the others of his kind, the unnatural calmness he projected with every breath, his presence in the diplomatic party. Spock was the ambassador's son.

"You're Sarek's son." Jim accused, watching Spock's eyes widen with surprise then narrow in defensive inquiry.

"That is irrelevant."

Jim knew he was as good as dead. This little escapade was definitely going to get back to his mother and she was probably going to be questioned for it, meaning Jim was going to land in hot water all over again. Like every time before, he had no one to blame for it but himself.

"I gotta go." He choked out, and it felt wrong to say it, worse to step away because tension was seeping into Spock's stance again, and Jim knew how much worse it would be for him than anyone else when the council finally handed down their decision. Would they insist on keeping him here with his parents? Force him into a camp or send him to some too small colony that the Alliance would only maintain for the sake of humiliating their once foes?

Either way, family was his priority, and that meant distancing himself from Spock before those doors opened. If Winona Kirk, wife of one of the Alliance's most celebrated heroes, could not keep her son from consorting with the enemy then-

Jim cut the thought short, risking a glance back to the Vulcan party, "You should leave. Now. It won't be safe soon."

If that didn't cement his place as a Vulcan sympathizer, nothing would, but this crowd was going to turn into a mob as soon as victory was announced unequivocally. It was a miracle security had managed to keep them from instigating anything this long. Their brief acquaintanceship notwithstanding, Jim didn't think anyone deserved to be caught in the mayhem.

"We are waiting for a decision-"

Jim was beginning to find Spock's unnatural calm a little less intriguing and a lot more infuriating.

"You can't afford to! Do you even know what's going to happen if they find out you're the half-breed?" Jim tossed his head back to the Terrans, noting with no small amount of trepidation that a few glances were trained on him; worse yet, he could see recognition on some of those faces. Rumors had circulated that Sarek and his wife had a child, the living proof that Vulcans and Terrans were not as different as propaganda liked to claim. By his very existence, Spock was a threat to years of careful indoctrination.

He saw Spock's minuscule flinch from the corner of his eye, hardly more than a tightening of his jaw and a slight shift of his weight.

"Sorry." Jim muttered, and meant it wholeheartedly.

"Accepted." Spock was studying him like he was some sort of alien specimen to be cataloged and classified. This once, he supposed, he was, but Jim had seen that look one too many times in the eyes of the behavioral 'specialists' his mother had insisted on sending him to for years. He suppressed his own temper with Herculean effort.

Not quite certain why he was even bothering with trying to explain it to a stubborn Vulcan but equally certain he must, Jim tried again; "You've got to-"

As if on cue the doors began to slide open, a Human representative stepping out first. His gaze flew directly to Jim and Spock, the only occupants of the gulf that stretched between the Vulcans and Terrans.

_Shit._

A Vulcan followed, fingers surreptitiously entwined with those of the Human woman at his side- that would be Amanda Grayson then, the traitor. The ambassador also took note of the two of them, face becoming even more forbidding if possible. Jim was pretty sure he had seen that same expression on Frank's face a few times before some of his more memorable outbursts.

The Human opened his mouth to address the gathering, but before he could even speak the crowd rushed forward. Jim found himself unexpectedly knocked off balance, stumbling until Spock stretched out an unthinking hand to steady him.

Jim gasped, flooded with emotions not his own yet a perfect likeness of them; confusion and dread, outrage and desperation- Spock shoved him away, gaping in like-minded disbelief.

Jim allowed himself to be swallowed up into the crowd of Terrans, relieved to be separated from the tumbling confusion of emotion and suddenly bone-weary. It didn't seem all that strange when his knees buckled and his legs gave out, he couldn't even muster the will to struggle when unknown hands caught him, pulling him out of the crush as consciousness fled.

 

* * *

 

 

Sound was the first thing to filter through his unnatural sleep: the soft whisper of urgent voices and someone's nails tapping out a staccato rhythm. For a while he simply rested and allowed the predictable beat to soothe him until vision returned in a rush, leaving Jim overwhelmed with unexpected brightness.

"Jim? Are you awake?"

Winona's voice was soft, colored with undertones of genuine concern. Jim took stock of his body, checking for any unexpected pain.

"Yeah."

"Then we have to talk."

"I'm sorry."

"Oh no, that's not going to do it this time, Jim. I need to know exactly what you said to the Vulcans. What were you _thinking_?"

She was building up to a truly fantastic lecture, Jim recognized the signs, but there were more pressing questions weighing on him. He strained to look over her shoulder, trying to catch sight of whomever she'd been speaking with before he awoke. She stepped neatly into his line of sight, warning him the effort would not be tolerated with a reproving stare.

"Where's Spock?" Had he managed to get out or had he been caught in the swell too?

"Spock? Is that the Vulcan you were speaking with? He's in custody-" Winona caught herself, smoothly redirecting into the approved jargon, "Pending the resettlement of Vulcan refugees."

She lowered her voice, sinking into the chair beside his bed wearily. Yesterday there hadn't been so many worry lines etched into her brow. She had aged a decade in a day. "You caught a lot of attention. Questions are being asked, and I don't have any answers to give."

"We didn't really talk, all I know is his name." A lie, but probably the safest answer he could offer, and he desperately wanted to be left alone.

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing."

Winona's relief was palpable. She lowered her voice and leaned forward,"The doctor couldn't find anything wrong with you; if anyone asks about your fainting spell, and they will, tell them it has happened before."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, for all the world as though she had just been whispering reassurance to him. He knew he wasn't excused, Winona would use this opportunity to teach him a valuable lesson about discretion.

Once again the lesson would not stick; he would only wind up in trouble again the minute she left him on his own.

 

 

 

                                                                                                                             Nine Years Later

"Let me see if I've got this straight." Bones' tone was deceptively mild, a false smile just curling the edge of his lips. "You want me to use my medical access to override the archive restrictions so that you can gather evidence of punitive colonies that do not officially exist and then smuggle that information to Uhura so she can distribute it through your discrete channels to people I'd rather not know anything about. Have I got that about right?"

"Exactly." Jim beamed with pleasure, anticipating the fight Bones was going to give him over this one, and his eventual acquiescence.

"Oh, well that's just peachy, Jim. Hunky fuckin' dory. I just have a few questions first, starting with-" Bones knocked back his whiskey, eyes watering from the rough sting. "Are you out of your damn mind? That's espionage!"

"Keep your voice down, no need to shout."

"Afraid the walls might hear me?" Bones lowered his voice nevertheless, acknowledging the justice in the rebuke.

"To answer your question, I'm as sane as you are." Jim graciously ignored McCoy's snort of disbelief, "Which is why I know we have to do something, and that you're going to help me."

Dammit, Jim. I was just starting to get comfortable after your last stunt and now you spring this one on me." He held out his glass beseechingly and Jim obliged with another splash of whiskey; Bones was much more reasonable when he had a little alcohol in his system.

Jim waited patiently for the silence to wear him down, running a finger around the rim of his glass. Bones had probably noticed Jim wasn't drinking half as much as he pretended, but that wouldn't stop him from downing a bit of liquid courage.

"I'm not saying I'm agreeing to this, but if I did- don't you grin at me, Jim- If I did, how would we theoretically proceed?"

"Theoretically, you would finish off this bottle of whiskey, I would take your creds and get Scotty to sabotage the surveillance system while I appropriated a few files. We would relay the data to Sulu who would transfer them to Uhura who would… contact all those people you don't want to know anything about. I'd keep your creds, and when security comes around tomorrow morning you can stumble outside reeking of alcohol and raving that you don't know a damn thing. A quick search will prove your credentials are missing and you will have a very plausible defense. Flawless."

"Except for the part where everyone knows you're my friend, and that you're the only one crazy enough to try a half-assed plan like that and expect it to work."

"It's the best I could come up with on short notice."

"It's pointless, Jim. With the rebellion flaring up again now, and the number of ships we've lost to the Vulcans this past year there isn't hardly anyone left who would actually give half a damn if a few of the pointy-eared bastards were roughing it in prison camps."

"You do."

"I'm a doctor, it's my job." Bones muttered gruffly, eyeing the bottle sideways. "'M not drunk enough for this yet."

"Take your time, Bones."

"This in't gonna end well, Jim."

"Have a little faith, I've never got us in so far over our heads we couldn't dig our way out again."

Leonard shot him a pointed glare and Jim rolled his eyes, "I know what you're going to say, and it doesn't count."

"It counts. I was plucking glass and metal out of Chekov's skin for hours."

"No one ended up in a cell."

"Details." Bones waved a hand airily, clanking his glass down on the counter forcefully enough Jim worried it might crack.

"It's no use beating around the bush. We both know I'd do just about anything for you." He scowled again, "But I want to go on record as saying this is your worst idea yet and there's going to be hell to pay."

"Duly noted, that's nothing you haven't said at least a dozen times this past hour."

"It bears repeating."

Jim grinned fondly, clapping Bones' shoulder hard enough to earn a trademark scowl, "Thanks, Bones. I knew I could count on you."

"Whatever. Just do me a favor and don't get caught." Bones locked eyes with him, willing Jim to see the honest plea there; he had lost enough friends over the years that every last one he managed to keep was a victory.

"I won't. Get caught, I mean. I'm always glad to do you a favor, especially when it works out to my advantage too." Jim winked insolently, forcing a bright smile.

"Famous last words." Bones muttered, sliding from his seat to find the access key he had promised. If anyone could come out of this in one piece, it would be Jim Kirk and his misfit band of troublemakers.

 

In the days that followed, Bones would curse himself repeatedly for the blind confidence that had made him hand that chip over to Jim. 'Famous last words' indeed.


	2. An Evening Constitutional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim jumps the gun, Leonard panics, and Spock finds himself in a bit of a hard place.

"This isn't goin' tae work, Jim."

Jim glanced back at Scotty, frowning slightly. His fingers hovered over a glowing PADD, carefully concealed behind his form lest it draw any unwanted attention.

"Why? D'you know something I don't? Because so far I'd say we're doing all right." Jim gestured to the hall at large, alarms still armed and every exit sealed like they hadn't casually waltzed through one not half an hour past.

"You're no' that good. We shouldn't ha' been able to get past the blocks sae easily-"

Jim couldn't quite keep the annoyance from his tone, that particular bypass had taken no small measure of his time. "Easily? I'd hate to see your definition of hard. I was working on those routines non-stop for weeks."

He hesitated for a moment, taking in his partner's wide eyes and increasingly shallow breaths. Scotty was normally behind him all the way; if he was getting cold feet now, there might actually be a problem. Especially when he was wearing his fear so openly; it took more than just a minor snafu to put Scotty's hackles up.

Alternatively, he might be remembering their first attempt at jinxing archive security and reasoning the net gain wasn't worth the potential risk.

"What's wrong specifically?" Jim whispered, scanning their surroundings for anything that might have set Scotty off. He felt a little exposed too, standing out here in such an open space. The vaulted ceiling echoed back every whispered word and sometimes the shadows at the edge of the expansive anteroom seemed to shift and move only to fall still when Jim looked directly at them. It was all a product of adrenaline, he was sure. This little mission would quench even his recklessness for a few weeks. Maybe even a month.

His skin was crawling with unease and he hadn't been able to shake the feeling of watching eyes since they had stepped through the first checkpoint, but that was nothing unusual- fear often played odd tricks on the mind, and given the reward for failure they both had a right to be terrified.

"I don't feel right, Jim-"

"Did you disconnect surveillance or not?"

"Aye, but-"

"Was my authorization rejected?"

"No-"

"Chekov would comm us if he lost sight of the guards, he'll let us know if anyone decides to pay a surprise visit. Otherwise we're fine, there's nothing to worry about. Problem solved. Now give me a hand with this, I want to be out of here sometime before morning." Truthfully Jim wanted out immediately, but having worked so hard to reach this point he wasn't about to turn back without something to show for it.

With a resigned sigh, Scotty took the PADD from his hands, fingers flying over the screen. "Your problem is here. McCoy's-"

"No names." Jim hissed.

"Though' you said there was nothin' tae worry about?"

"Just being careful, I don't want anyone else dragged into this… just in case."

Scotty snorted, "Should've thought of that before ye took his creds. Point is, he's no' authorized for this level."

"And he should be. I thought medical access was good for pretty much anything."

"No' hard copies apparently. Makes sense, keep the sensitive data out of the system. Any lock could be cracked eventually, but a hard copy… can't crack that, Jim."

Shit. The first real crimp in his plan and it manifested as soon as they were in too deep to call it quits. Jim was beginning to think Bones might have been on to something with that whole "in over your head" speech.

"Is the door off-line? I couldn't find anything that even remotely resembled the entrance code we used before."

"Meaning it's no' in the computer. How're your lock-picking skills, Jim?" Scotty managed a sickly smile- a pale imitation of his customary grin. Jim didn't bother returning the empty gesture.

"It has to be in there somewhere. No way are the Terran archives this old school."

"I'm not seeing it, you didn't either. It doesn't exist."

"Pass the PADD, I can find it."

A new voice broke in, low yet resonant and infinitely unwelcome.

"What are we looking for, gentlemen?"

Scotty sucked in a sharp breath, PADD tumbling from suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter loudly on the hard floor. Jim swore under his breath, straightening his back and turning to confront the man that advanced steadily down the corridor, boots echoing a sharp report all around them.

Just his luck it would be captain Christopher Pike. Naturally, he wasn't alone either; in fact, he had brought the whole cavalry. Jim couldn't put a name to any of the faces of the men and women arrayed around him, but they all had two things in common: phasers set to kill and expressions that said they wouldn't hesitate to use them if he so much as sneezed.

Of course his nose started itching at precisely that moment, because the universe never passed up a chance to fuck with Jim Kirk.

If he actually managed to talk his way out of this one, he was going to owe Bones drinks for the rest of his natural life and maybe a little bit beyond.

"I don't suppose you have a plan for this, Jim?" Nervousness and resignation blended equally in Scotty's tone, but there was no sign of the panic Jim had half expected. It shouldn't have surprised him; Montgomery Scott would probably greet Death with a wink, a smile and an invitation to a final bottle of scotch for the road. Not tonight, though.

"You bet."

Jim stepped forward, sliding gracefully between Scotty and the armed bastard nearest to him; he dropped Bones' chip as he passed, hoping Scotty would take the hint. A muffled crack assured him Scotty hadn't missed the gesture and that he fully comprehended the significance of it. Little good it would do, chips could be pieced back together and Bones would probably be the first one besides Winona to hear the dreaded knock at the door, but this would give him that little time he needed to prepare.

"Evening, Chris. I don't suppose you would believe me if I said we're here for a late-night stroll through the lobby."

"In the central archives with a PADD in hand three hours after midnight? Not likely, but I'm sure you'll be glad to accompany me back to headquarters. We can discuss it there." Pike's grim scowl wasn't at all reassuring. Granted, this was far more serious than a few late nights on the town gone bad, but there was no trace of the vague amusement Pike usually reserved for his young protégé.

Jim could practically hear the dying screams of his future.

Scotty stepped up beside him, pale even in the dimness and probably shaking in his boots. He cleared his throat, "I don't think-"

"You too, Mr. Scott?" Sharp and disappointed.

Scotty squared his shoulders and stared back impassively, biting his tongue to keep down what would probably have been a caustic remark on the incompetence of Alliance officers. Jim stepped on his foot warningly, ignoring Scotty's disapproving look. Jim had never heard the complete story of how Scotty managed to find himself discharged from Starfleet and banned from so much as stepping foot aboard an Alliance vessel ever again, but he was pretty sure it must have something to do with his profoundly contemptuous attitude toward authority figures and a certain propensity for making his ire known.

Pike shook his head almost despairingly, stepping back a pace and allowing his party to advance.

"Bring them along. And confiscate the PADD." Pike nodded to his escort, turning his back on the prisoners without a thought. His voice rang hollow, devoid of the satisfaction Jim would have expected from anyone else. That didn't mean he could garner much sympathy; Pike had interceded on his behalf a time or two in the past, but only for minor infractions, and this act had consequences that reached far beyond any power Christopher Pike could hope to influence, family friend or not.

"Chekov." Scotty whispered for his ears alone, tongue darting out to wet dry lips. Jim gritted his teeth; Chekov wasn't here; perhaps he had managed to evade notice? No. He would have warned them if it were at all possible. Meaning he had been caught the same as they.

That didn't make it any easier to stomach when they stepped outside to find Chekov kneeling on the ground, hands folded behind his head while some strutting jackass held a phaser just out of reach.

The kid jerked when he saw Jim and Scotty step out of the building, face lighting up briefly at the sight of them only to darken again when their captors followed closely on their heels. He had been so certain everything would work out… another knot twisted in Jim's gut. He'd had no business bringing these men along. When Scotty had asked him if there were any more ideas floating around his clever mind he should have called it quits and told Scotty to find a freighter willing to get him off this planet in exchange for his mechanical skills.

When Chekov had enthusiastically voiced his unqualified approval of their last 'outing' and gleefully insisted they were due for another, Jim should have told him to get his ass to Starfleet and stay away from any more stupid delinquents looking to land themselves in trouble.

But he hadn't, and here they were. Nothing for it but to hope for the best and expect the worst. It would have been far easier to accept if Jim had even the slightest idea of what a worst-case scenario might entail. A work camp or penal colony? Worse yet, a re-education institution? Jim shuddered; it wouldn't take a tribunal long to piece together exactly what he wanted from those archives- any one of those options was entirely possible.

Whatever happened, he probably wouldn't even be permitted the company of his partners in crime. Assuming they didn't all end up executed for espionage as Bones suggested, there was no way they would be seeing each other outside of a court room ever again, if then, and they all knew it.

Thank God Uhura had sat this one out. She and Sulu would be beyond anyone's reach by now; with any luck- and Jim had to believe there was still some left over- she had picked up on the chatter and swiftly vacated the area with friends in tow.

None of them struggled when the restraints were clamped about their wrists, not a word was spoken as they prepared to be transported away. One last warning glance was all any of them had time for and all they needed as a reminder of their duty to absent comrades.

 

 

 

 

"God _Dammit_ , Jim." Pike growled, sitting across from him over a dull table that bore the marks of use Jim didn't even want to consider. "What the hell were you thinking, son?" Jim winced at the raw concern bleeding through uncharacteristic fury.

"I told you to keep a low profile, I told you to wait-" He straightened abruptly, smoothing the crease in his uniform where it had pressed against the edge of the table. Jim sunk farther into his chair, making a show of crossing one leg nonchalantly over the other, raising a questioning brow.

"Jim, I can't even begin to shield you from something of this magnitude." Bitter disapproval, not untinged with guilt.

"You sure we should be talking about this?"

"Interrogation cells aren't monitored. I imagine you're clever enough to have a good idea of why that might be."

Jim glanced again at the battered table, "I bet you have to replace these every year."

"Try every few months, and if you don't start cooperating, you're going to find out why."

"Who's with Chekov and Scotty?"

"I don't know."

"I need to know, I'm responsible for them."

Pike pushed back from the table, pacing in quick, agitated lines. Nearly ten years of acquaintance and Jim had never seen Chris look so distraught. It wasn't doing much for his confidence.

"You should have considered that before you dragged them along on whatever ridiculous scheme you were running tonight. I knew you were reckless, Jim, but I never took you for a fool!" It came out as a savage whisper that held all the intensity of a roar. Jim couldn't quite stifle a grin, though he did his best to hide it when Pike spun around unexpectedly.

"I need you to tell me what was going on tonight-"

"You always said I shouldn't talk to men in uniform unless I had counsel." It was a weak attempt at humor, and earned him no more than a frown.

"Unfortunately you waived the right to counsel when you were caught trying to sabotage some very sensitive systems. You're looking at treason, Jim. I need you to tell me what you were doing; maybe we can try for clemency. I'll testify that you were cooperative and offer your confession as proof."

That didn't sound like the Christopher Pike he knew at all. "What the hell is going on?" Jim murmured, trying to catch Pike's gaze with his own.

"The Council's on a witch hunt. They're looking for someone to blame for all these subversive acts and pockets of rebellion, then along comes James T. Kirk and his Merry Men and suddenly they have an answer. They have someone to blame, someone to make an example of, and they're not going to want to surrender that advantage. If you'll give me even half a confession- lie if you have to- but give me something I could use to plea for mercy. They might hold you up as an example of how forgiving the Alliance can be toward its enemies, maybe let you off with probation and a few years in a cell. Refuse and you're probably looking at a re-education facility. Scotty and Chekov won't be far behind; they'll follow your lead. Confess and you can save all of them."

"Sounds like you've been replaced by some sort of Alliance puppet." Jim growled, far more angry than he had any right to be, but every word sounded like a betrayal of those values Pike had always loved to preach at him when he was still just a troubled kid with a chip on his shoulder. All that had really changed was the scale of the trouble he got up to.

"You picked the wrong time to be a hero, I'm just trying to salvage what I can before you  regret it. You have to pick and choose your battles carefully." Crushed. That was exactly the word. Pike looked like he was being crushed beneath the weight of his duty. Jim's burning anger dimmed somewhat, but he couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal.

"Think you could get word to Uhura?"

"No. Communications are locked down until security thoroughly sweeps the area; they think you might have had other accomplices." Pike smiled grimly, "They won't find them. Chekov took care of it as we were arriving."

One less thing to worry about. He wanted to ask about Bones, but in his current mood Pike would probably take Jim's head for the effort.

"You gonna release me to a cell any time soon?"

"Jim-" Pike clamped his jaw shut, glaring in exasperation.

"We done here?" Jim pressed, allowing some of his frustration and disgust to show through.

"Yeah. Yeah, we're done." The soft words had a ring of finality to them that would have chilled the blood in Jim's veins if he weren't so thoroughly preoccupied with the fate of his crew. Pike commed the guard outside the door and watched impassively as Jim was led from the room, a credible smile on his face and mocking words on his lips.

The Kirks were going to be the death of him one day; hero complexes, every last one of them. He loved the kid for it, but at the moment, Chris Pike almost wished Jim could have played the wise coward, just this once.

And was damned proud he hadn't.

 

* * *

 

 

Leonard knew something had gone horribly wrong when Jim didn't materialize the day after their conversation crowing about his victory and proffering his credentials like they were the Holy Grail.

He had waited for hours, obsessively checking the chronometer, pointlessly straightening everything he could get his trembling hands on until at last he looked out the window to see that night was falling. Still no Jim in sight. There was no other option but to report his clearance chip stolen the following day before he began his shift in the clinic; Chapel had eyed him like he'd sprouted a second head, but thankfully she hadn't said a word. That woman needed a raise and a promotion, stat.

It was easily the worst shift he had ever worked since that time he had agreed to fill in for a supervisor on a sixteen hour shift. After he dropped the third hypospray, Chapel yanked him into an empty exam room and demanded an explanation that he wasn't prepared to give.

"Didn't get much sleep last night." Len grunted, voice suitably gruff and impatient.

"That's obvious. Why?"

"None of your damn business."

Chapel pursed her lips, giving him that look that said whether it was her business or not he was going to tell her everything.

Most days she would have been correct, but today, Leonard McCoy was in no mood to be badgered into a confession. He pushed past her and stomped into the hall before she could do more than voice a hastily aborted protest, swallowed when he fixed her with a fierce glare.

If he could just make it to his office, maybe take a few minutes to bring his unreasoning fear under control… Jim had been late before, sometimes by so much as a few days and he'd still pulled through all right in the end. With any luck he would pull a miraculous resurrection and be waiting inside the office to surprise his old friend. Perhaps he'd be reclining in Leonard's battered, ancient chair, feet propped insolently on the desk and a devil-may-care smile lighting his entire face as soon as Len stepped through the door.

"I've got a story for you, Bones." He'd chirp, blue eyes sparkling with unholy glee. And Leonard would bitch him out, pour them both a glass of bourbon from that little flask he hid so carefully in the second drawer and tell Jim he had ten minutes to spit it out already.

Only it wasn't Jim waiting in his office when the door slid open, it was alliance officers and exactly none of them were smiling.

"Gentlemen." Leonard cleared his throat nervously; three officers? Did they even have any jurisdiction outside of the lockdown zone?

The tall, dark-haired one stepped forward, taking in Leonard's scrubs with a careless glance. He was nearly an inch taller than Len himself, and damned if that scowl didn't look a little more intimidating too. Len barely kept himself from snarling like some sort of cornered animal.

"Are you Dr. Leonard McCoy?"

"That's what the nameplate on the door says, isn't it?" He clamped his mouth shut tightly, his head felt like it might be spinning and he could feel his fingertips going cold.

"Are you or are you not Leonard McCoy?"

"I am."

Satisfaction oozed from every pore of the tall bastard. Never had Len been more tempted to plant a fist in someone's teeth, but that would only end with him in cuffs while they dragged him off to God knew where.

"Have you visited the central archives at any time this past week, Mr. McCoy?"

 _Doctor,_ Leonard thought, and he could see the answering smirk flit across Asshole's face.

"Wait just a damn minute. Where I come from, it's customary to give your own name when you've just been introduced-" Leonard cut off the protest he could see dancing on the other man's tongue by the simple expedient of raising a quelling hand and looking as though he expected it to be obeyed. "And before you get off tellin' me you're from whatever division, I want to see your ID."

He was stalling, but it gave him a few seconds more to clutch at whatever frail mask of self-possession he could yet conjure. By the time he had painstakingly examined each and every one of their IDs his hands were considerably steadier and his voice had lost that panicked edge.

"To answer your question, I don't have any reason to be at the central archive at all. It's a hassle just to get there, let alone get in. Why?"

He knew damn well why, he just didn't want to hear it.

"Where were you the night before last, Doctor McCoy?"

They were trying to fluster him, get him to break down and tell them everything he knew in the hope that it would spare him grief. Leonard tried for one of those cocky smiles Jim seemed to be able to pull from his sleeve at a moment's notice; it looked more like a grimace, but his effort was rewarded when the tall one stepped back a few inches.

"Night? I finished up a late shift here and headed home. Any reason you need to know?"

"You weren't be any chance in the company of one James Tiberius Kirk?"

"We had a drink or two." Try a couple bottles.

"And afterward?"

"Look, I don't know what this about, but I'm on duty so you either come to the point or produce a warrant for my arrest."

Len caught the glance they exchanged, decidedly less confident than before. Good. Let 'em squirm.

"James Kirk is in custody for crimes committed against the state-"

_Oh god._

"Your credentials were in his possession."

_Oh god, Jim, what now?_

"He's currently in custody, and you are advised to make yourself available for any further questions." He rambled on for a few minutes, but Leonard had long since stopped listening, too busy wondering what sort of 'questions' Jim had been subjected to already. What of Scotty? Where Jim went, he was sure to follow. Was he in custody too? He couldn't ask; it would be tantamount to admitting his involvement and then they would all end up in cells.

Leonard nodded numbly when at last the asshole stopped speaking, gesturing to the door that a hand that shook minutely. "I'm sure you can find the way out."

There was just enough of a question there to imply they couldn't even find their own asses without help, but they strode out the door as though this meeting had all gone exactly as intended. Len wondered if it had, and devoutly hoped he hadn't given everything away with his too damned expressive face.

He made his way over to the desk and pulled out that little flask he'd always sworn he'd never make use of on duty and took a quick swig, not sure whether it was the rough sting of alcohol or the thought of what might be happening to his friends even now that brought tears to his eyes.

Either way, in five minutes time he was about his duties again, giving no sign of the fearful chill that had settled in his gut.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Spock."

Amanda Grayson watched as her son jerked awake, forcibly pulling himself out of the unnatural sleep that had held him captive for over a full cycle now. He lay quietly, breathing evenly while he scanned the room with piercing eyes. She wondered now how she and Sarek could ever have misinterpreted the signs of his affliction; his body was tense, wound tight as the strings of the lute he had once so loved to play, and there was a brightness to his gaze obviously born of fever.

Certainly he had been a little more excitable these past few days, a little quicker to tire and even less inclined to leave their home than usual, but no one had suspected that anything was wrong precisely- until he had attacked Stonn and brutalized the guards that came to take him into custody.

It hadn't been Spock in the infirmary later that day that had snarled and snapped at the healers who dared to lay hands on him, it hadn't been Spock that had threatened to snap their necks and leave their corpses for the scavengers, and it hadn't been Spock that had bodily hurled a bed at the door where the assistants cowered, warning them to keep their distance.

No, Amanda was no stranger to the phenomenon known as Pon Farr, and when the healer had informed Sarek and she that Spock was preparing to undergo the harrowing ordeal, it hadn't come as much of a surprise.

For his own safety as well as that of his caretakers, Spock had been restrained and heavily sedated, moved to a facility equipped to manage a Vulcan in the grip of that vicious instinct.

And here he lay now.

Spock blinked quickly, clenching his hands tightly in the sheets bunched beneath him. Amanda was relieved to see a measure of sanity returning- after his outburst the previous afternoon, even the healers had begun to wonder if his condition might not be irreversible.

"Mother." Spock frowned, pushing himself up from the bed briskly, steadying himself on the edge of the bed. "I am sure the question I-"

"You've been unconscious for over a day now. We requested that you be sedated until we could find…" Amanda glanced about the inhospitable room, no sharp edges, nothing that might double as an impromptu weapon. "Suitable quarters." She finished with a hitch of her breath.

"We?" Spock murmured.

"Your father and I."

She could see the moment memory returned in the way he pulled even further away from her, flinching back when she extended a comforting hand.

"I trust no lasting damage was done?" He tilted his head softly, taking in every unconscious gesture, analyzing and cataloging for future reference she was sure. Spock had always been more restrained than his kin, more given to reflection before action. None of them had ever suspected he would be susceptible to the Vulcan's mating fever; there had never been any wildness in him, none of the turbulent flash-fire emotions of his father's kin. Amanda had insisted on taking precautions, but neither she nor Sarek had ever expected they would be needed.

"No damage. Not this time." His hands released their death grip on the linens, shoulders slumping with relief.

"Your father has already sent for T'Pring. I'm sure-"

"No!" Amanda started violently, casting an involuntary look over her shoulder toward the secured door. She had never heard such a thoroughly feral sound from her only son, and what precious awareness she had seen in his eyes but a few moments ago had been all but completely swallowed by a rage such as she had never seen even in his father's eyes.

He stiffened, guilt washing over his features. For a moment she thought one of those pale hands might reach for her, but he only settled his palms over his knees, straightening his shoulders and willing her to meet his gaze

"No." Spock's voice was gentler now, but no less firm. "T'Pring is, by any definition, unsuitable."

"We arranged for this years ago, Spock. What happened with Stonn was-"

"Not unexpected. Neither regrettable. Attempting to form a bond with T'Pring would prove impossible, if not lethal to both parties."

"I don't understand." A chill of fear raced up Amanda's spine. Was this some manifestation of the blood fever or was Spock suggesting that he had in fact already found his mate, and if so, why hadn't he done the honorable thing and presented them to his family? Unconsciously she reached out to him, mutely offering whatever support she was capable of lending. His cold fingers closed about hers, squeezing almost to the point of pain but aware of her fragile humanity, as always.

"I have already initiated a fledgling bond, and further, allowed it to deepen for a number of years now."

Half-remembered whispers came back to her, disregarded at the time for their sheer absurdity. Sarek had intimated that Spock might have bonded with a Terran boy the day of their defeat so many years ago, that some on the council had even urged him to spread the rumor. For so many years now, Sarek's own bonding had been an anomaly, regarded as an abomination by Terrans and Vulcans alike. Malicious sources had affirmed that Spock would acquire a taste for his father's perversions… and if what she was beginning to suspect proved true there would be no way to silence it without bringing a greater shame to the house of Sarek.

"Oh, Spock." She whispered, tempted to pull him to her in an embrace, but it was not an intimacy he would encourage.

"Is it the Terran?" The open shock that paralyzed his features in that moment was all the confirmation she needed.

"I'll tell your father, we'll prepare. You need to-"

"I will remain here." Seeing the proud way he held himself, even locked in this cell that would double as his temporary living quarters, Amanda could almost believe that the decision had been his to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note on world-building: The use of 'Alliance' in place of 'federation' is intentional and will be explained in later chapters along with the respective political/social atmospheres of (New) Vulcan and Earth. 
> 
> I'm just a huge fan of using smut to explore the concepts. More on that later. :p


	3. On the Gallows Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock indulges in a memory, but Jim is preoccupied with his increasingly uncertain future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for chapter title goes to Sir Walter Scott's "Guy Mannering"
> 
> "Three wild lads were we, brave boys, thou on the land and I on the sand and Jack on the gallows tree."

Spock lay pliant and subdued, listening to the cadence of his mother's footsteps as she hurried down the corridor, doubtless to deliver news of this conversation to his father. It would have been altogether more fitting if Sarek had come to inform him of the gravity of his condition, but to place two male Vulcans in the same confined space during this stage of Pon Farr would have been a risky proposition at best.

He shifted slightly on the bed, felt his nerves respond to the unremarkable stimuli as though it had been the most acute torture. Tingling agony prickled just beneath every inch of covered skin and any part of him in contact with the unforgiving bed. Resolutely he ignored it, retreating back into the comforting haze he had permitted to descend over his thoughts.

Amanda was concerned, he could see it in every minute shift of her expression, hear it in the somber inflection of her voice. Another side effect of his condition, perhaps, this new perceptiveness that allowed his enhanced senses to detect every nuance of her mood.

Spock shifted again, curling in on himself with effort; every muscle in his body was rigid, and yet ached with the need to be moving. He stifled the compulsion, breathing shallowly until it dulled.

If he held still, if he quieted his racing mind just enough, perhaps he could find that small pocket of otherness lingering at the edge of his senses. One breath, two, he focused his attention on the nondescript gray of the ceiling and waited until he could hear his own ragged inhalations. His condition had improved during those few hours under sedation, and he gave thanks he was still aware enough to make note of it.

There. Spock found the faint presence, struggled to quiet his misgivings when it seemed to fade from his awareness momentarily- a phenomenon that had become increasingly common these last few years. He knew it was his continuing efforts to discipline his mind and thoughts responsible for that. Most of his people his people had little regard for the teachings of Surak, but Spock had often taken solace in those old writings, a reminder that there was no one way to be Vulcan. Reassurance that he could be more than the sum of his parts- not volatile and rash as his own people, neither utterly ruthless and xenophobic as his mother's.

Distracted, the presence nearly slipped away from him once more. Ruthlessly Spock quieted his thoughts and slipped into his flawless memories, a safeguard against the ravages of his relentless fever. He could recall the precise moment that alien mind had winnowed out such a small window for itself within him; the moment was etched indelibly in his mind, though it was little more than a scattering of sensory impressions: noises and emotion and that brief, startling touch that he could not bring himself to discard for reasons he was reluctant to acknowledge. By such scraps he could bind it, bind James Kirk, to his own consciousness- a primitive bond, but one instinct had warned him only a fool would sever.

Without it, Spock was certain he could not have survived the beginning stages of his madness. Now that pon farr well and truly had him in its grip, he was not sure Kirk would at all be pleased to be his savior.

 

 

 

_Sarek's retinue had no time to spare for the child among them, one caught up in baseless imaginings of what horrors the Terrans might even then have been inflicting on his parents behind closed doors. Amanda had spared only a moment before she departed to explain to him that they would not be harmed, the Terrans could afford to be merciful in their victory. Beneath the words Spock could sense her conviction and it ought to have comforted him, but having only just seen the holoimage of his home as it was destroyed… Spock would have credited these Humans with the potential for any atrocity._

_While the remainder of the Vulcan party conversed among themselves, nervously watching the crowd that hemmed them in on every side, Spock cast his thoughts wide, looking for anything that might allay his worst fears for even a moment. Parvak cast him a disapproving glance. As a telepathic species, Vulcans had always emphasized the importance of safeguarding one's mind and keeping it from any outside influence. Spock's Human heritage, normally a mark of shame, served him well now: most of those that felt the brush of his questing mind assumed he simply couldn't maintain his shields in the face of such a powerful flood of emotion._

_Elder Parvak knew better, but he was also wiser than to draw attention to the halfling child in the midst of the Vulcan gathering. The significance of that would not escape even the most ignorant Terran, and Spock would not for all the world have placed in parents in any more danger than they already faced._

_Parvak's hand on his shoulder startled him, sent his feeble defenses crashing down so that he was struck with the full force of a telepathic backlash. He stumbled, barely managing to stay upright as he tried frantically to close the boundary that separated himself from the tangle of confused panic seeking to swallow him up. Just as he finally managed to rein in his fear and surprise, Spock felt an unmistakable tug._

_No, that wasn't quite right. It was as though someone had sensed his desperate flailing, like some mind had been momentarily snagged as he tried to draw back in on himself and instinctively responded. Spock glanced about guiltily, looking for a sign that anyone had felt his impersonal probing. Across the expanse of the courtyard his eyes locked with those of a boy making his way through the crowd toward the Vulcan delegation; he knew without being told that this child had been the one that connected with him so briefly._

_Shocked that a Terran had managed to pick up some trace of his thoughts, however briefly, Spock still couldn't repress a stab of cold fury; if they had not shared Human blood, doubtless the other boy would never have sensed his clumsy attempt to read the crowd._

_As though his shame was not great enough, the boy continued to push forward, maneuvering his way into the small clearing just between the Terran bystanders and the Vulcan delegation. What was he going to do?_

_Parvak leaned down, resting a hand on Spock's shoulder to convey reassurance, strength, and no small amount of command. "This was your doing. If you don't go to him, he will only come to you." Parvak's fingers tightened enough to bruise. "Let this be a lesson in caution, Spock. We cannot afford these mistakes now."_

_It was not unheard of for a Terran to be sensitive to the touch of a Vulcan mind, but it was remarkably rare to find a Human that could not only sense but respond to the contact; the connection seldom ran both ways. Nevertheless, Spock ventured out, curious despite himself. Amanda had always said that curiosity was his besetting sin, and nothing he had done today proved her wrong._

_Behind him Spock could sense the attention of his elders shifting from their nervous chatter and uneasy thoughts to his slow trek across the floor. A pall descended over them, the sudden flurry of emotion battering Spock's frail shields with anger, terror, shock, disgust…_

 

 

Only recently had he come to understand what the elders must have sensed instinctively in that moment. James Tiberius Kirk was his mate.

It should have been impossible.Terrans did not recognize soulmates, they could not forge the same bonding of minds that Vulcans took for granted; their very nature was given to self-preservation rather than any sort of bonding. There was only one known exception to that rule: Amanda Grayson, and now apparently the son of the man responsible for destroying Vulcan's last defense. Yet Spock had every intention of following in his father's footsteps.

Young as they were and entirely alien to each other, still Spock had felt that otherness slip into him in that unguarded moment when the crowd had jostled them together. He had watched helplessly as the boy fell to his knees, so paralyzed by the overwhelming onslaught that he could hardly catch his own understood now that his own consciousness must have overwhelmed the other boy's for that brief instant. His own mind, infinitely more malleable, had shifted to accommodate a new and unobtrusive presence that never probed back regardless of how much he pried. For years after that day he had examined that frail link, hoarding every vague impression he could gather from it.

Those first few days while his father arranged for the release and transport of key political prisoners had been the most harrowing. There were times he could not find the boundary between them, entire days he was not certain whose emotions he experienced or whether his thoughts were entirely his own. Parvak had informed Sarek of all that had occurred and Spock had been warned in the sternest of terms to sever any connection to that foreign consciousness, but it was a task far easier ordered than accomplished.

Of course that hardly mattered. When they were brought to New Vulcan that presence had faded almost entirely, no more than a small spark of thought Spock couldn't bring himself to smother entirely. He perfected his defenses around it, seldom allowing himself to dwell in memory or venture into that small pocket James Kirk seemed to have taken for himself. In time even his ever-attentive father assumed the danger had passed.

Spock would have agreed until recently. Nearly two weeks ago he had felt that small ember flare to burning life, only for the space of a few hours, but it had been a prelude to the torment he suffered now and despite his best efforts he could no longer disguise its presence. Worse, weak as the connection was it was still substantial enough to prevent him bonding with another of his own kind, even had he been so inclined. His only choice was to return to a hostile planet, find his bond among the billions of lifeforms that made their home there, and hope that James Kirk would accept his courtship and bond.

If not, Spock knew he was bound for an agonizing death.

 

 

It was only a matter of hours until Amanda returned, remarkable given the heated debates that usually consumed the council whenever there were vital decisions to be made. Spock could barely hear her words over the muffled, too-rapid clamor of his heart, but the news she brought was encouraging. Permission had been secured for him to at least attempt a retrieval mission; unspoken was the knowledge that the council almost certainly did not expect him to survive it, his condition being what it was.

Very few Vulcans of sound mind and body had ever managed a straightforward escape from the parameters of New Vulcan following the rebellion. To attempt infiltrating the Human home planet, tracking down an unbonded mate with nothing more than a name and a small vestige of memory all while half delirious with the onset of fever… it was little more than an elaborate suicide.

Amanda had hardly finished outlining the plans she had already made before Spock levered himself to his feet, forcing himself to take her gently in his arms, ever mindful of those fragile Human bones. "Thank you, mother." He ignored the sob she stifled in the fabric of his shirt, her fingers curling into the smooth cotton savagely. Spock allowed her to hold him for a moment longer, then carefully pulled away, setting her aside with as much care as he could muster.

Not a handful of hours later he had acquired the supplies required for the undertaking. Success was far from certain, but taking action was far preferable to being confined in a cell while his ultimate fate was decided by his own recalcitrant body.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Three weeks. Three weeks with no word of Jim, Scotty, or Chekov, not even so much as a courtesy call from Pike informing him of the facility where they were being held. Leonard was certain if he had to wait even a day more he was going to lose his last fragile claim to sanity. It would all have been simpler if he could have contacted Uhura, even Sulu probably knew more than he, but his comm channel had remained silent and if their involvement was not already suspected then he had no right to compromise then now.

So Leonard waited. He pretended not to notice the sympathetic looks from his colleagues or the way he was 'randomly selected' for spot searches every few days. He pretended that he hadn't noticed the displacement of his records or that someone had been thumbing through his personal files. He fretted constantly that his connection to Jim's harebrained scheme would come to light and if he would find himself sharing a cell with his best friend, and then immediately felt disloyal. There were worse fates than sharing a cell with a good friend- remaining a free coward for one.

Thankfully common sense always reasserted itself before Leonard could convince himself to carry through with something terminally stupid. Helpless as he might feel right now, Jim would no more want him behind bars than Len cared to be there.

Today was one of the harder days, when it seemed he was constantly fumbling through his work until he hardly dared let himself near a living, breathing patient. He had called M'Benga to fill in for him nearly an hour ago and hurried to the cafeteria for something to eat. They were serving peach cobbler; pity the sweetness turned to ash in his mouth and his throat couldn't be coaxed into downing a bite.

Leonard started when someone yanked out a chair and sat opposite him, dark eyes locking with his own in mute demand. "I found where they're keeping him."

Uhura's voice was calm, her smile as bright as though they weren't discussing highly questionable means of obtaining information. Leonard didn't even bother asking how she had found out or why the hell she had come here and put herself at risk- none of it mattered.

"Where?"

"You're not going to like it." Her tone was wry, but her smile turned flirtatious as she reached out to snatch his plate from him; he made a half-hearted grab for it, guessing her intent, but she pulled it away too quickly. "You look sick, let me finish it or everyone here is going to start wondering who I am."

"Where the hell is he?" Leonard snapped, nerves at a breaking point.

"Max security holding cell at Starfleet headquarters."

"Starfleet? Why? What the hell is their interest?"

"Pike's doing. Trust me, he's safer there, but Pike tipped his hand one too many times; he's under official scrutiny now."

"Scotty? Pavel?"

"Alive and reasonably well. I saw Scotty this morning." Uhura's face fell, "He's holding out, but the sooner we can arrange for their release the better."

"This is neither the time nor the place-"

"Do you take me for an idiot?" Determinedly, Uhura forced the last bite into her mouth, chewed like her life depended on it. "When do you get off?"

"Another few hours to go. I'm free this evening." He forced a smile, leaning close as though bidding an intimate goodbye. "We can't meet at my place."

"That's fine. I'll send Sulu to pick you up."

"Good. I'll see you then."

"I hope so." Uhura murmured, pushing herself away from the table forcefully; every eye followed her as she strode out. Leonard couldn't help but wonder how many of them were only looking at an exceptionally pretty woman, and how many were seeing a dissident and co-conspirator in the plot hatched by Jim Kirk. He prayed his fears were no more than paranoia, but he couldn't shake the conviction that their conversation had been noticed.

"I hope you know what you're doing."

 

* * *

 

 

Day twenty-three and still no word on the charges laid against him. Twelve days without a visit from Pike. Jim wasn't sure whether he should interpret that as a good sign or whether it was time to make his peace.

Hell if that was going to happen before he knew what had become of his crew. Pike said Chekov was fairing the best. He was routinely pissing off his guards with rousing renditions of some drinking song Scotty had taught him, though he insisted it had been composed in Moscow and only recently transported to the shores of Scotland. No word on what Scotty had to say about that, but Jim was willing to wager it was nothing complimentary.

Of Scotty there had been no word whatsoever after that first day. Apparently that battered table had to be replaced shortly after his inimical Q and A. That came as a surprise to absolutely no one, Scotty had a mouth on him that could strip paint from a wall at a hundred meters, but Jim hoped he had at least been granted enough of a reprieve to seek medical attention. If he had been held at Starfleet headquarters like Jim, that would have been a given, but it remained to be seen whether Starfleet could be so forgiving to one that had been dishonorably discharged from their ranks.

Ironic, given that Jim had never seen anything remotely honorable in Starfleet's practices for all their high-sounding rhetoric.

To think there had ever been a time he would have willingly sold his soul to count himself among their number. In fact, since Jim advocated honesty with oneself, he was prepared to admit that some part of him still thought that sounded like a fair exchange. Stuck in this cell awaiting trial, there was no chance he would ever see the stars. Unless, of course, they sent him to Tantulus-

The door guarding the cell bay hissed open, but Jim turned his face away to heave a deep sigh. They were late with supper tonight by almost an hour; it was unusual- normally the nights they elected to serve him an evening meal it came punctually, but really he should be grateful they had bothered coming at all.

Most days Jim didn't attempt to communicate with the grim-faced men and women that only ever approached his cell to deliver food and water, occasionally a change of clothes if he was especially lucky. They weren't the people he needed to see, and every last one of them probably repeated whatever he said to their superiors as soon as they were off duty.

He typically entertained himself rehearsing every possible variation of a defensive speech, complete with a few witty one-liners guaranteed to hit their marks. There was only so much of the day he could lose to idle fantasy, and Jim swore he could feel the groove his near-constant pacing left in the floor.

Perhaps tonight he should try something new for variety's sake.

"Hey, Jim."

Speak of the devil and he appears. Jim nearly wrenched his back twisting about and leaping from his bed in one not terribly graceful movement. "Scotty!"

If it sounded more like a shriek of pain than one of joy that was likely because he had finally noticed the stiff way Scotty moved, the bruises that were only now beginning to fade from his visible skin. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like death."

"Hands in front of you, step back." The guard snapped, and Jim hastened to comply, fighting the urge to leap on his friend as the forcefield flickered out of existence. Scotty didn't even have an insult for his captor as the cuffs were taken from his wrists, simply stepped in beside Jim and waited patiently until their prison was sealed once more and their guard vanished from sight.

"How are you?"

The look Scotty flashed him managed to convey exasperation, sarcasm and a vague echo of his normal humor. "I'm fine, Jim, obviously. You are too if that grin is anything to go by." He attempted a smile, but it pulled at a healing cut along his lip and faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. "Don't suppose they told you why I'm here?"

"Aside from trading a few insults on my way down and a few minutes with Pike a couple weeks ago I haven't spoken with anyone."

"Uhura says they've set a date for our initial appearance before a tribunal." He glanced longingly at the bed, "D'ye mind if I set down?" Jim stepped aside and gestured grandly to the bed, wincing at Scotty's limp.

"When did you see her? Is Chekov all right?"

"Well enough as it goes, poor lad is terrified, but deviled if he's showing it. As for Uhura, in light of my transfer I had a few minutes with her. Nothing much was said; you can bet she's on the radar now, took enough of a risk just showing her face in that damn prison. But does she ever listen to me? No-"

"You can take it up with her when we get out of here."

"That's just it, Jim. I don't think we will. Or if we do, we'll be sent somewhere that makes this look like sweetest paradise." Scotty leaned back slowly, giving a contented sigh at the softness of the pillow behind him.

"You're always so paranoid-"

"An' most of the time I'm right, too. Mustn't forget that. Speaking of, I'll wager you my best bottle of scotch Chekov will be arriving soon. They'll want us all in the same general vicinity; less chance of any mistakes being made."

"I know better than to take that bet."

Scotty's laughter rang hollow, but it soothed Jim to hear it; the day Scotty couldn't manage even so much as a rough chuckle was the day he would begin worrying about his own mortality.

 

 

Hours passed he thought; it was easier to lose track of time now that Jim had company to joke and bicker with. Anything to fill those fraught silences that would descend otherwise.

Just as their conversation began to wind down, those dangerous silences becoming ever more frequent, the door hissed open again to admit none other than Chekov. Of all of them he seemed to be holding up the best, not a scratch on him, though he looked a trifle pale and his eyes were wide as saucers. It was hard to say how much he had been affected by their ordeal, given that was his typical expression anyway.

The tight hug he enfolded Jim and Scotty into as soon as the guards departed answered Jim's silent question. He feared for a moment they might actually shed tears, but in the next Chekov had pasted that false smile back on his lips and taken the spot vacated by Jim on the bed.

"I have not heard anything since we were taken. Why are we moved?" Pavel glanced eagerly between them, entirely at ease now that he was in the company of friends.

"Scotty has a theory that we'll be appearing before the initial tribunal soon-"

"Today, even, otherwise they wouldn't want us together. Might even be our final tribunal. Anyone care to take a wager we're bound for a reeducation camp?"

"I will put credits on a colony." Pavel chimed in, nodding his head sagely. Both Scotty and Jim pretended not to hear the way his voice broke on the word.

"Neither." Jim stared them down from his position across the cell. "I got everyone into this, I'll get everyone out, I just need time to think-"

"You've had almost a month, Jim. How much more time d'ye need?" The words were sharp, but the look that accompanied them was sympathetic. Chekov shrugged noncommittally; at least one of them thought he had a shot at it, even if he was a notorious optimist.

"Don't give up just yet. We're probably up for espionage- that means the tribunal will be looking to make an example. We'll work with that, see if we can't stall for a little more time; we still have people on the outside they won't even suspect."

Now even Chekov was looking at him like he was a few ships short of a fleet, but mercifully he didn't criticize. His resigned silence was almost worse.

By the time their security team arrived to drag them before that first and final tribunal, Jim was ready to admit he might not be able to charm his way out of this corner, but he still wasn't ready to admit he'd lost the fight. One final reassuring grin for Scotty, a wink for Chekov and he strode out of the cell, confident they would follow him into hell and back, and still hoping against hope they wouldn't have to.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll see what happens when they finally meet!
> 
> I'm hoping to have it up by next weekend, but given the number of re-writes this chapter went through, it's not entirely guaranteed.
> 
> On a brighter note, my worldbuilding notes now exceed the wordcount for the story so that should help to avoid future plot tangles. :)


	4. Flight Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spock meets Jim. Again. Sort of.

Spock inspected the wreckage of his control panel with remarkable poise considering the outburst of temper that had resulted in its utter destruction scant minutes ago. When the sensors had begun to screech and chime at him in unison, the computer endlessly repeating a litany of proximity warning and impact alert, his fragile self-discipline had slipped from his fingers like so much Vulcans were a race known for their savagery, and Spock had done his heritage proud in the few seconds it had taken him to reassert control.

His own panting breaths sounded too loud in the confines of the ship, echoing from the walls and adding to the voiceless cacophony that rang in his ears even now.

From the moment he had entered Earth's atmosphere, bypassing the defensive grid with his father's override code, he had known it would only be a matter of time before Starfleet's defenses registered an anomaly. Ambassador Sarek was no longer welcome in Terran space save for those brief windows of time when the Alliance chose to trot out its favorite prisoner of war. Sarek and his family had been among the fortunate ones confined to the central camp on New Vulcan. They were still unquestionably prisoners, but kept in a gilded cage with less Terran influence than the civilian camps. Central was one of the few settlements permitted to keep the outward trappings of Vulcan politics, including their once great leaders.

Thanks in part to Amanda's connections beyond the barriers, leaving New Vulcan's space had not proved half so challenging as entering Earth's. Spock did not delude himself that either his father's position or his mother's gift for negotiation would save him if he were discovered. Starfleet would even now be hailing New Vulcan's command, requesting a confirmation of Sarek's whereabouts. When word came back that ambassador Sarek was within bounds, search protocol would be implemented and his absence would be logged.

Meaning he had no more than an hour and a few minutes before every grid-searcher knew they were looking for the half-breed and prepared accordingly. Spock did not possess the strength of his Vulcan peers, but neither was he prey to the blood-rage that was at once their most feared attribute and best known vulnerability. Of course, with his mind succumbing to the fever that characterized the latter stages of Pon Farr, he could no longer be sure that was true.

A last look at the damaged console suggested it might not be.

 

 

It took him longer than he could afford to force the shuttle doors open, metal groaning with the strain of resisting him, but at last it gave way, letting precious oxygen seep into the hold. It was remarkable how swiftly the breeze restored his reason; perhaps his sensory system was responding negatively to his own pheromones? It would not be an issue for a full Vulcan, but perhaps his Human blood yet resisted the changes he would undergo as Pon Farr advanced, resulting in greater aggression if the Vulcan portion of his primal consciousness registered it as a threat to his well-being.

Assuming he survived, it would be a phenomenon worth researching. If aggression could be manufactured artificially, then there was every possibility it could be restrained in the same manner.

Relieved that he was still capable of complex reasoning, but acutely aware of the rapid passage of time, Spock forced his distracting thoughts aside. The challenge now would be to locate his bondmate before he was lost; all he had was a name, and a growing sense of determination he knew wasn't entirely his own. The link was reciprocated then, meaning that he should at least have some idea of which direction his bondmate lay in.

Surrendering to unconscious impulse, Spock turned toward the East. The sky was beginning to brighten with false dawn, and he could make out the silhouettes of hulking buildings designed more for utility than beauty, around himself though there was only empty space. An empty lot of dirt and debris still dusty with the shuttle's initial impact. A geographic scan prior to system shutdown had pinpointed his position at somewhere in the Pacific region- Sarek's shuttle was preprogrammed for Starfleet headquarters, but without clearance he would have been shot down far sooner had he dared a straightforward approach.

That meant miles of hiking, all the while fighting impulses to kill prey, find shelter, protect, provide.

Thought alone would not change his circumstances any. With a final glance for the ruined transport he set off in the direction that curious pull was urging him in, discarding the misgivings of his Human nature entirely.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow after hearing all the talk of "tribunals" and "judgment", Jim had expected something a little more grand than the cramped room his company was ushered into.

Cramped wasn't really the word for it; 'intimate' would have been closer the mark if some genius higher up the pay-scale hadn't thought it was a good idea to shove nearly a dozen people into a space clearly intended for no more than three at a time.

The majority of the space was taken up by desks of the variety that Starfleet favored: dark synth-wood paneling, heavy and imposing, clearly meant to make an impression on the unfortunate that found him or herself on the wrong side. They were organized in such a way as to form a triangle, the better for herding the prisoners to the center and blocking their only means of escape. Jim had to appreciate the strategy of it, even while it worked against him.

He didn't recognize the faces before him and to his right: a middle-aged woman, hair already streaked with gray at the temples and frown-lines etched deep around her mouth, and an older man whose stomach had turned to fat some time ago if his jowls were anything to go by.

The third face to the woman's right was all too familiar, and Jim knew it boded ill for all of them that Captain Christopher Pike was permitted to attend. Pike would not have been admitted unless he stood as a witness against them, and as the man that had organized their capture, he would have no other choice.

Jim avoided eye contact, determined to make the proceedings easier for both of them.

It was no secret that Pike had taken an active role in the education of James Kirk. He had never served under George Kirk, but while writing his dissertation regarding the events leading up to Kirk's death he had relied heavily upon firsthand accounts of the crew. As the last person to have spoken with George before his untimely demise, Winona had been one of the few he repeatedly contacted.

Winona had often left Jim dirt-side with Frank while she escaped to the stars fleeing the demons that haunted her, and Frank's bitterness had occasionally found its outlet in punishing Jim. Then Pike had stepped in, and with one softly-worded, undeniably threatening " _Enough_ ", the abuse had ceased.

That would never work here.

Jim busied himself taking stock of the rest of the room, carefully ignoring that corner that Pike had claimed for his own.

Between his crew, their guards, and the smug assholes glowering at them from their positions behind the makeshift panel, the office was certainly filled to capacity; there would be no room for any sort of audience.

The circumstances of their arrest were hardly common, but the hearing should have been conducted publicly. All those nights alone in his cell Jim had comforted himself with the knowledge that even if they hadn't succeeded in publicizing the locations of the myriad ghost camps, at least word would spread that there were Terrans who would not sit idly by while an entire species was eradicated for the unpardonable sin of existing outside the bounds of Alliance control.

That last hope had been dashed to pieces now, and it was enough to make Jim's blood boil with rage. He couldn't even find it in himself to muster a last cocky smile, only glared back at the arbiters of his fate with something dangerously close to withering contempt. He was going to pay for his actions no matter what, might as well make it clear what he thought of the proceedings.

"James Tiberius Kirk, Montgomery Scott, Pavel Andreievich Chekov, you have been tried in absentia for crimes committed against the state and found guilty." The admiral to his left began, settling back into his chair comfortably while he blithely read off what protocol dictated he should say.

"Didn't waste any time, did ye?" Scotty's tone was nearly as dry as his scotch; having sampled some, Jim could testify to it. The sheer absurdity of the thought startled a snort of amusement out of him, quickly smothered. It wouldn't be fitting to collapse in hysterics at this point. From the corner of his eye Jim could see Chris staring at him like he was a madman. Good to know he still had it in him to surprise the old man.

The woman seated front and center took up the speech. "We are prepared to hand down the sentence, but we will hear a plea for clemency should you choose to submit it."

Jim glanced between his partners, half hoping they might accept the offer. There was no telling what 'clemency' might mean at this point: death by firing squad, or confinement to an institution rather than a penal colony?

Chekov spoke for all of them, and quiet as his voice was, it carried the resonance of authority in it. "We will not."

With that, Jim began to breathe again. Whatever was coming, they would none of them face it alone.

"Then it is our duty to sentence you accordingly. Montgomery Scott, tomorrow evening you will be escorted to Delta Vega there to undertake such duties as your supervisor deems necessary."

"That's a fucking death sentence." Scotty breathed, fingers clenching spasmodically. Mercifully, no one remarked the small crack in his composure save Jim. He was going to remember this for the rest of his days, assuming he survived more than another few hours. Jim's eyes turned to Pike for the briefest second, hoping against hope he would speak in protest. The chamber was silent save for the admiral's droning voice.

"Pavel Chekov, you are to be transported to Tantalus-" Jim caught the hitch in Chekov's breath, the brief widening of his eyes before he schooled his features into impassivity. Someone had done their homework- every sentence handed down catered to a very specific fear. Scotty would be stranded light-years away from home on a planet that saw less sunlight than Siberia. Chekov would be locked up with some of the most dangerous criminals of their time, drugged out of his conscious mind and confined to an institution that even a brilliant young prodigy would be hard-pressed to escape.

Still Pike was silent; for all that he owed the man, Jim felt the seeds of resentment begin to grow. Pike was here for a reason, he always had a reason for every move he made; he could have declined to attend this farce and not one of the admirals would have thought anything of it. Instead he had chosen to attend and hold his tongue while men that had worked at his side for years were packed off one by one. If he was not here for Chekov or Scotty that left-

"James Kirk, on the recommendation of Captain Christopher Pike, you will be transferred to a maximum security facility there to serve out three consecutive life sentences without opportunity for parole."

"I take it this will not be open to appeal?" The incredulous silence that greeted him was answer enough. Well, the question had bought him a few precious seconds more of freedom anyway. Damn him to hell because he couldn't just leave it there. James T. Kirk always had to have the last word.

"It might work this once to just… conveniently sweep us under the carpet." For the first time since had stepped into the room, Jim allowed himself to lock gazes with Pike, all his helpless rage reflected perfectly back at him from the other man's eyes.

"But it won't always be this easy. Sooner or later someone is going to come along and knock you off your fucking pedestals, and I'm just sorry I won't be there to see it," Jim spat even as the guards moved to restrain him, manhandling him back into the corridor before he could say any more.

There was no need. Jim had already said his piece, and he wasn't half so resigned to this fate as his final speech had suggested. He wasn't dead, that was Pike's gift to him- the opportunity for escape if he was clever enough to find it. With not one but three life sentences, he would have nothing but time to contemplate the problem and once his own release was secured he would find a way to bring his crew home.

They were down, but they weren't out. Not by a long shot.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Len didn't feel like speaking at all during the drive from the clinic to whatever hideaway Uhura had secured for their upcoming rendezvous. Jim, Chekov, and Scotty were gone, maybe forever; what the hell was he supposed to say to that? Sulu didn't push, only offering him a perfunctory nod as he slid in, taking off before Leonard even had a chance to find his belt.

If it had been Jim here the kid would never have shut up. He would have been brimming with madcap schemes he was just dying to share, ready to take on the Alliance alone if anyone else even showed the slightest sign of was why he was the one detained and Leonard was seated comfortably in the front seat of Sulu's ride.

"This is gonna look odd. I usually take the transport or hoof it back."

Sulu shrugged noncommittally; "If it would make you more comfortable, I can make us a little harder to follow, but surveillance would still pick us up eventually. Besides, we haven't violated any laws just by being friends with them."

No. That wasn't against the law, but Leonard could name any one of a dozen other things that had been, and he'd gone ahead and done them anyway because Jim made everything seem so perfectly rational.

"'S fine. Doesn't matter. We'll probably all have our own cells by the end of the month anyway."

"That would be a waste of resources. We'll have to share."

"I swear, if you turn this into some kind of joke-"

Sulu winced, "I wasn't- That was-"

"I get it." Too long in Chekov's company could do that to a man. It was so easy to tease when the boy took everything they said at face value, and Sulu had spent more time with him than most.

The silence between them was no longer comfortable, strained now with guilt and worry. "Where are we headed, anyway? Uhura didn't say and I don't think any of our old haunts would work. We don't know what Jim has and hasn't said." Not a damn thing if Leonard McCoy knew him half as well as he thought, but the possibility was always there.

"Back to square one." Sulu's lips nearly quirked into a smile, though there was precious little humor in it. Leonard grimly mirrored the expression.

 

 

"Square One" meant the quiet, rundown cafe near the docks where four bitterly disillusioned men and one woman finally worked up the guts to admit that the Alliance ideal wasn't terribly idyllic after all. It was the place where Jim had first introduced them to Christopher Pike and Montgomery Scott, Starfleet officers thoroughly jaded with the cause they were meant to be serving, and it was where they had adjourned for a celebratory drink when Scotty had landed that dishonorable discharge they had all known must be coming his way.

What had started off as a conciliatory drink had ended as one of the most memorable nights out they had ever had when Scotty had drunkenly proposed that Jim begin planning his own outings independent of Pike.

They had all been just tipsy enough to go along with it, and sober enough to realize how insane that was in and of itself. Leonard gave thanks all of them had survived those first few weeks under Jim's guidance. It must have been true that providence had a soft spot for fools else Leonard didn't see how they hadn't ended up on someone's radar sooner.

If only they had called it quits while they were ahead of the game.

Uhura was waiting for them at a corner table when they arrived, her back to the wall as she restlessly scanned the crowd passing on the street. Leonard offered an uncertain wave, surprised when her worried expression immediately gave way to a bright smile and a welcoming gesture. She pulled him into a hug when he was finally close enough, pushing her mouth against his ear to whisper lowly, "Try not to look like your best friend just died. He hasn't yet, I promise."

Len hadn't even realized that was exactly what he was fearing until he felt the prick of tears behind his eyes. "That dumb kid'll be the death of me."

"Literally if we don't plan carefully from here on out." With that she stepped away and took her seat again, breezily gesturing a waiter over to their table and ordering iced tea before Leonard could protest, even remembering to add an extra sweet for him.

"Are we going to be here that long?" Sulu twitched like a dog with fleas, uncomfortable with having his back to the door. On any other day, Len might have twitted him for it.

"We should have a few drinks. Discuss what we're going to do next. I paid a visit and they're all looking well. A little tired, but otherwise all right." She nodded gratefully when the server returned with her drink, taking a quick sip before she continued, "This once, I think bureaucracy will work in our favor."

"How so?" Sulu leaned back, pushing his tea away with a grimace.

"They were all being held separately when I was there, but that should change as soon as they have their judgment. It takes a long time to get these sort of processes moving. We should have a few days to arrange for their removal between sentencing and carrying it out."

"I think you mean months."

"Not for sabotage. The fleet will move fast on this one. It wouldn't do to draw attention to this trial, then they would have to admit they have something to hide."

Leonard sat back, sipping thoughtfully. "We could ask Pike."

"And bring him right into the middle of it? No. He's not expendable." Sulu shook his head, sharing a glance with Uhura.

As it turned out, that was exactly the wrong thing to say.

"Isn't expendable? Jim isn't expendable, Scotty isn't expendable, Chekov isn't expendable! They're your friends too and I expected-"

"Lower your voice." Uhura snapped, heel digging into Leonard's foot beneath the table. "The last thing any of us need is to be detained with them and you know it."

Shamed at the outburst, Leonard finished the glass in a few gulps, shoving it aside to the edge of the table. "You're right. So, we don't comm Chris. I'm hoping you have another idea?"

"Chekov would love it." Sulu smirked, fingers drumming a nervous tattoo on the table.

"Jim would too." Uhura added. Neither one said a word about Scotty, probably because he was the only man wise enough to question half of their crazy missions and gifted enough to pull them off despite the odds.

With those three locked away, Len was certain this plan would be nothing more than a very elaborate method of obtaining those personal cells he had mentioned to Sulu. Years ago, when this whole adventure had first started, Leonard had voiced some of his fears to Jim. The ones that still had the power to jolt him out of sleep, panting and disoriented: that if they were caught, he might well end up drifting in space, confined to a prison ship for the remainder of his years. Or worse yet, imprisoned at Tantalus as a subject of whatever depraved experiments the fleet deemed too unsavory to conduct on Terran soil.

In typical Kirk fashion, Jim had flatly refused to admit the possibility. _"It's not going to happen, Bones, but you know if it does the whole fleet couldn't stop me bringing you back."_

Faced with that, what else could he possibly say but "All right, where do we start?"

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jim didn't resist in the slightest when his escort finally stopped before a shielded cell, pausing only long enough for a retinal scan before pushing Jim inside. From their tense postures he could see they were expecting some sort of last-ditch bid for freedom, so he only smiled and waited for the one on the left- Mitchell his name tag said- to reach for his cuffs.

Then he tried for it, bringing the cuffs up into Mitchell's nose and throwing his weight into the asshole on the right. His ears rang with the deafening blow that one landed, but Jim was singularly proud that once they had finally subdued him, wrestling him to the ground and pinning him there until the cuffs were secure once more, his wasn't the only blood painting the floor.

If his smile was a little savage when they finally backed out of the cell, cradling noses and jaws and gaping in disbelief at the teeth marks on their arms, who could blame him?

With a final snarl, Mitchell, Gary stalked over to the control panel, and with a few taps the forcefield darkened until Jim couldn't even see the corridor beyond his cell. He would have bet his right eye they could see in, though.

Jim flexed his jaw, testing his teeth to ensure none had been knocked loose; something told him Mitchell might conveniently forget to deliver him to the infirmary if he came to serious harm. All seemed well, just an unholy amount of blood staining his shirt, bruises that probably wouldn't heal for the rest of the week and a pain just under his ribs that likely had something to do with that final breath-robbing punch Hendorff had landed just before Jim had tapped out.

Ten seconds more and they would have been pleading for mercy, he assured himself. Fucking Hendorff. Fucking Mitchell.

Oh well. It wasn't like he was going to have to put up with them for three lifetimes or anything. Jim had already decided he would be out of his cell by the end of the week. Scotty would just be getting antsy by then and Chekov would be more than ready to slip out of whatever hole he was confined in. The only trouble would be finding a ship and a sympathetic planet to harbor them.

"Who the hell am I kidding?" Jim muttered. Damn. Talking to himself already, he might not even have a week before this whole imprisonment thing started getting to him. Kirks just weren't made for sitting still.

Winona. She hadn't been present for the trial; it was fortunate that even Pike had been permitted to attend. Not that he had been any use whatsoever.

 _Not fair. This is my fault, I'm going to fix it._ He hoped Winona would get the news from Pike; he would break it a little gentler than her superiors. The two of them thought they were being so subtle with those quiet glances and private smiles. If any good could come of this at all, he hoped it would be that the two of them realized they could be more than just natural allies in their desire for Jim's well-being.

Jim paced the length and breadth of his cell until he was sure he could draw every inch of it from memory. Sterile and lacking any edges, just like the first. A futon lay in the corner, as pristine as the rest of the cell and about as inviting. He supposed he should be thankful he wouldn't have to sleep on the floor.

Sleep. There was a commodity he'd had precious little of these past few days, worried as he was. Now that the worst had finally happened, the full weight of his fatigue came crashing in with a vengeance until it was all Jim could do even to keep his eyes open as he shuffled toward the futon that might as well have been a bed of nails for all Jim cared. He stumbled into it, just grateful for this brief respite.

Tomorrow his planning would begin, and he would have to be sharp for it. His head hadn't hit the pillow before he gave up the fight and allowed himself to be dragged into a restless sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

The sickening crunch of bone against steel set Spock's blood singing through his veins. The frantic screams and pleas for help from the man's partner went unheeded as Spock stepped over the fallen bodies of the other two that had answered the first blare of the alarum. He could feel the terminus of that pull was near, and an echo of pain had shuddered through him hours past that he knew had not been his own. Whatever thread of humanity he possessed had been entirely submerged beneath the Vulcan's need to protect his mate then. He had begun to run, and his sense of urgency had not abated any the nearer he drew but only grew more acute as the distance between them lessened.

Fear and exhaustion trembled in the link between them, only a shadow of what his bonded must be feeling, but enough that Spock could not keep from howling his rage when another Terran appeared before him, blocking the entry to the place Spock knew-beyond-knowing held his mate. He didn't hesitate to attack, tossing this one aside as he had the others to tumble to the floor like a broken doll.

It came as a shock when he felt the pain and numbness of a phaser strike spreading through his body from a focal point on his back. He had just enough time to turn and register the last Human, still kneeling over his partner with phaser in hand before darkness took him.

 

 

 

Jim's dreams were no better than reality, fragmented and chaotic so that he almost wished to wake and assure himself that dreams were all they were. Dreams that consisted of little more than bright light, deafening sound and a sense of urgency that held him fast in its claws. Voices drifted to him through the muted screams that echoed in his ears as he stirred.

"Shit. I think he's coming 'round."

Jim didn't recognize the voice, but surely it couldn't be referring to him? He tried in vain to pry his eyes open, but between residual fatigue and the swelling from Mitchell's earlier blows, they didn't cooperate.

"Throw him in with Kirk." Mitchell. Jim would know that voice anywhere. Mitchell was officially number one on his growing shit-list. Idly, Jim wondered if maybe Scotty wouldn't be averse to deleting every record of his existence. Then reality intruded to remind him that it would be nothing short of a miracle if Scotty and he ever saw each other again, much less had a chance to work together.

"It's against regulation."

"D'you want a berserking Vulcan or an official reprimand? I know which I'd take."

Jim's eyes snapped open just as the forcefield lowered, but his spasming muscles wouldn't allow him to do more than raise himself to his elbows as Mitchell tossed the 'berserking Vulcan' into his cell. If by "berserking Vulcan" Mitchell had meant an unconscious Vulcan spattered with red blood obviously was not his own.

The Vulcan twitched, rolled, and before Mitchell could back out of the cell, he was on his feet, unsteady and definitely confused, but looking more than ready for round two.

 _Hell yeah._ "Mitchell, I think you're _fucked_."

The Vulcan froze for a split second, just long enough for Mitchell to spring out of the enclosure and activate the field once again. Jim wondered when he'd finally learn to keep his damn yap shut the way Bones said he should. His new cellmate turned, features twisted up into a rictus of a snarl that faded slowly the longer he looked at Jim. For the life of him Jim couldn't have broken the silence. A familiar feeling spread through him, one he hadn't felt in years until suddenly it was all he could do to stay conscious, let alone hoist himself to his feet. Disbelieving recognition, profound, inexplicable relief, joy and the remnants of fury, all swirling together in a maelstrom of emotion Jim wasn't sure was entirely his.

That was insane though; the only way that could even possibly be true was if this Vulcan had bonded him. Which hadn't happened, couldn't have-

Except that Jim could feel the truth of it resonating with that pocket of otherness in his thoughts- the locked chest that he had tried for so many years to pry open for curiosity's sake, a tiny flicker of memory he occasionally fanned to life when solitude or disappointment had weighed heavy on him. It had never responded to his efforts, not once in all the years he had worked at it. Now it responded, bright and hot, overwhelming in its intensity and entirely unaware or uncaring of the boundaries his mind desperately tried to erect in self-defense.

Not again. He wasn't going to _swoon_ for a Vulcan again. It was a near miss though, his head squeezing until he was sure it would burst from the pressure and the lights so damn bright it was all he could do not to curl into a ball and hide from the unforgiving glare. Through it all the Vulcan only watched; Jim was grateful, certain that if their skin touched for even a moment he would be lost. Whoever Jim Kirk was, swallowed whole by the new presence already unraveling him at the seams.

Jim did the only thing he could do: He gritted his teeth, swallowed his fear, and for once in his life stopped resisting.

 

Spock's panting breaths slowed, heart gradually adjusting its beats to that of the only other being in this cell. The Terran, James Tiberius Kirk, his bondmate.

Somehow, though he had been unworthy, despite his defeat at the hands of the Terrans, still he had been brought to his mate's side. For a moment that was all his mind could process, that they were in each other's presence at last, that this foreign mind recognized his own even after so long apart.

Spock slid into that consciousness so easily, not sensing any resistance, their two minds already a natural whole… and it was then he became aware of the crippling pain the Terran was valiantly attempting to ignore, the despair that he was even now suppressing lest it rise to the forefront of his thoughts.

Then he noticed the red blood spattered across the gray shirt that hung too loose on Kirk's frame, the pallor of that once bright skin, and his bondmate's fear beginning to scent the air.

Spock went _mad._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee! All right, this was a really cruel place for a cliffhanger, but I am all out of exams until June so the next chapter won't be long in coming.
> 
> I thought it would be better to have shorter chapters and more frequent updates this time around. :)
> 
> Edit: HAHAhahahssgcnrud.
> 
> I tried. I really tried.


	5. Fate's Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock rekindles a bond Jim isn't ready for. 
> 
> Jim prefers to deal with one crisis at a time, but this is one he never saw coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy update, Batman!
> 
> Seriously though, previously chapters have (finally) been edited. Nothing has substantially changed, mostly just word choice and a couple extra paragraphs in the last chapter.
> 
> Warning for kind of mental dub-con? Not the dub-con the tag refers to, alas.

Spock threw himself at the forcefield as though he could bring it down with brute strength alone, almost unaware and entirely uncaring of the shock of agony every time his skin made contact. He tore at the metal panels along the wall, snarling in frustration when his fingers grew too slippery with his own blood to grasp at the sharpened edges. His fist rained down blows hard enough to kill a Human man, a vicious sense of satisfaction welling up in him when at last he felt a panel give beneath the assault- not enough. He needed _out._

His bondmate's agitation was growing by the second, and Spock could feel the walls closing in on them, the sensory echo of cuffs about his wrists that his mate had been forced to wear. It was nearly impossible to separate their thoughts, a struggle to think at all with his blood rising. Some last vestige of humanity anchored him though, just enough that when his mate's distress became overwhelming, he was able to stop.

It was remarkable, a feat no other Vulcan had yet accomplished, to end the blood-rage that typically ended only with the death of an enemy or oneself. Spock didn't notice, the entirety of his attention diverted to bringing his recalcitrant mind back under rigid discipline, every ounce of concentration he could spare from that task was reserved for the Terran behind him.

Immediately his mate's distress eased, and Spock drew on what precious little calmness he could find in that alien mind, supplementing his own battered defenses to chase away the last vestige of madness so reluctant to surrender its grip.

The sound of a soft footstep pulled him out of his stupor, and Spock's eyes flew straight to the Terran, greedily drinking in the sight of him like a man without water for days.

Finally, _finally_ he gathered the strength to meet the Terran's eyes, his bondmate. _His._

"Spock."

The name was whispered so low a wholly Human ear might not have heard it, but Spock-with his mixed blood, with his traitorous heritage- he heard and considered that perhaps the gods of his people had been kind to him indeed. To find himself here, at the place and time where he was most needed by the one being in all the universe who could truly complete him…

_Buk._

Fate.

 

 

Jim would never be a doctor of Bones' caliber, but he was ninety percent certain he was going to be violently sick. His heart felt as though it were hammering against his ribs, knives were twisting viciously into his temples and it took two tries to swallow the surge of nausea the Vulcan's rage provoked. He could feel its answer in the flush of his skin, adrenaline pumping through his veins in an instinctive fight-or flight reaction. Sensation was nearly all he could process, his own thoughts submerged beneath an onslaught of emotion. There was nothing to do but cling to the aches and pains in the hope it would keep him centered. He had the feeling if his attention lapsed for even a second he would no longer quite be Jim Kirk again.

As to who would replace him… Jim might not have been the brightest star in the firmament, but according to every test his councilors had devised he was pretty damn close. His new cellmate was the catalyst in the explosive reaction, and the only explanation he could find was that they were bonded in some way. How? He held fast to that question, tinkering with it- he could almost feel the foreign presence ebbing away, making a space for him in his own mind again at last.

Jim added a new strain to their peculiar cacophony, forcing himself to take in the details of the other prisoner. He looked past the blood, the distorted features and peculiar clothes, a nagging sense of familiarity tugging at the corner of his thoughts so obvious that of course it eluded him.

Vulcans were touch-telepaths. If he could just keep his balance long enough to touch the Vulcan, maybe he would know.

Jim levered himself to his knees, moving slowly to avoid vertigo; it was becoming easier by the second to string his thoughts together. One after the other, like walking. But what if this was how it was always going to be: a constant battle to guard the privacy of his own thoughts? Always that feeling of something that didn't belong, a puzzle piece forcing itself into a space not made for it.

Despite his worry and frustration, Jim winced in sympathy when sensitive fingertips caught against the steel plating at the field's edge and tore, green blood a shock of color against the steel. His own fingers twitched and tingled, another sensation to add to a dangerous overload. Then the deafening noise in his head ceased as though it had never been, leaving him off-kilter but so damn relieved he nearly laughed aloud.

The Vulcan stood before him, heaving deep breaths as he leaned on the panel next to the forcefield, eyes partially closed against the lighting in the cell. Jim dared a cautious step, his gut twisting with anticipation when the Vulcan's gaze turned to him. Those eyes were the same rich, dark shade so typical of Vulcans, sparking with emotions Jim swore he could almost name. When the Vulcan finally met his gaze directly, never flinching or wavering, Jim made the final connection at last.

"Spock." The name left him on an incredulous whisper, he still remembered it clearly after all these years. He liked the way his tongue shaped the syllable, liked the way the Other tensed at the sound of the word, so he tried it again.

"It is Spock." He savored the sibilance and stop, trepidation melting away beneath a growing certainty .Though he received no confirmation beyond a stuttered breath, Jim knew it to be true in a way that surpassed any understanding.

"Are you all right?" He was in no position to be asking the question himself, still battered and sore as he was. Jim needed water yesterday, and he wasn't sure what it was Spock needed, but after that spectacular display Jim didn't think anyone in their right mind would withhold it.

Spock blinked and swallowed tightly, uncoiling with a predatory grace that would have had Jim stumbling away if he had any sense of self preservation. Instead he stepped forward, totally at ease now that he had finally managed to piece together the ill-fitting puzzle.

Spock prowled toward him- that was the only word for it- a cautious glide across the room that had him standing less than an inch away in a mere second. He drew in on himself, seeming to become smaller, but there was nothing timid in the gesture. It reminded Jim of nothing so much as a large cat gathering itself to lunge.

"James Tiberius Kirk." There was a purr of contentment underlying the syllables that brought a light blush to Jim's face; he didn't have a hope in hell of hiding it, not that there was much point in hiding anything. Spock was fascinated, making no effort to conceal the way he watched every minute shift of Jim's expression with a pale shade of greed. He watched closely, as though his life might depend on knowing the exact number of eyelashes or fading freckles across Jim's nose. The blush only deepened when Spock locked eyes with him again.

"I did not think you would remember me." Spock swayed and Jim instinctively reached out to steady him, his hand gripping Spock's forearm. His breath left him all in a rush when images and impressions cascaded through his head, embarrassment forgotten as he was once again assailed by thoughts and impressions not his own.

_Himself as a child, wiry and slight, seen through the eyes of an alien stranger: smothering fear pouring off him, his desperate attempt at bravery doing nothing to conceal it from a Vulcan's innate empathy._

_Older then, the impression of strength and resilience masking the frightened boy of years ago- an imagined smile and glint of recklessness in his eyes. There was a stirring then, of attraction, of want that Jim didn't fully understand except to know it did not come from him._

_Finally a man with no trace of the child left; his face was harder than Spock remembered. Lines of worry were only just beginning to write themselves on his brow, but he couldn't hide that mischievous dimple or the proud tilt of his chin, even now. Ambition, grief, that driving need to be recognized that had plagued him for as long as he could remember, every ugly thing as plain to Spock as the expression on his face. Yet there was no judgment, just a dogged curiosity and fascination that baffled him._

Tentatively he reached out, surprised at a peculiar soreness born of exercising 'muscles' a Null species had no right to- Spock offered no resistance, allowing Jim the same liberty he had taken in his turn, even welcoming it. Jim's lips curved into a delighted smile without any conscious effort on his part, Spock's joy at being recognized overshadowing his fear of rejection. The smile faded as new impressions seeped into his questing mind: a heat the likes of which Jim had never known, one that sparked an answering fever in his own body- something desperate, primal and ultimately undeniable.

He would've pulled away but his knees chose that moment to weaken, his supporting grip quickly turning into a plea for aid. He shuddered violently when Spock's hand clasped his own, at once grounding him and redoubling the impossible sensation-

Jim was sure this vision had never happened, equally sure it had because he could feel it with every iota of his being.

_His chest was pinned to the floor of the cell where his clothing lay in tatters, writhing in utter abandon to Spock's punishing rhythm, unable to do any more with one of Spock's hands pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, the other forcing his hips back onto Spock's cock. His body flushed with exertion and eyes glowing with pleasure, Jim panted for more, fuck, more, and Spock gave, animalistic growls escaping his clenched teeth that had Jim teetering on the edge of coming without even a helping hand. Yet when he twisted and tried to reach his painfully hard cock, Spock trapped him, twining their fingers together and laying his forehead against Jim's shoulder in an incongruously tender gesture. Jim came with a ragged yell, so abandoned to lust he couldn't give half a damn at his cum marking the floor, couldn't do more than whimper and sigh as Spock pressed demandingly into him once more…_

_Bathed in soft evening light atop a bed easily large enough to accommodate four of them, se was rocking gently down onto Spock, the Vulcan lying complacently beneath him as his sensitive fingertips trailed up Jim's amber skin, following a path of freckles up his thighs to the curve of his back. Jim couldn't resist leaning down to steal a kiss, his lips already flushed and warm from a dozen others like it. Spock's tongue twined with his own, demandingly, almost playfully. He nipped along Spock's chapped lips, tempting slyly until Spock gave in to his unspoken demand and laid a gentle hand against his face, fingers finding his psy-points with the ease of long practice. Whispers fell against his ears, endearments in a language Jim was certain he could never have heard yet so familiar he ached to return them. He wanted to whisper those words himself, hot mouth pressed against the cool skin of a pointed ear, fingers twined and thoughts commingling-_

_His hair was golden, like the sand that swirled through Sakaar-_ What? No. Vulcan was destroyed- _No. It lived still, though the edges were blurred, and the details had become dulled over time. Eyes blue as a cloudless too-hot day and skin the shade of the smooth stone from which his people had carved their god of war in ancient days. Though Human, he held the same courage and ferocity of that god in him, tempered always by mercy. All that spirit, that fire that lit his mate from within was_ his _-_

Jim gasped and staggered as Spock finally pulled away, hastily putting a gulf of empty space between them.

"What the hell." Jim panted, wonder and genuine inquiry mixing equally in his voice. There was no fear. Jim knew he should be terrified, but there was lingering calmness left in the wake of the storm as the images gradually faded to memory, some decidedly more graphic than others. Jim gamely ignored the pain of arousal, breathing a sigh of relief that at least he hadn't actually come as he had in the… dream? Vision? He was not disappointed. He wasn't. Purely relieved. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, forcing himself to take shallow breaths and think about anything else except the spark of _wantneedtakekeep_ that still bombarded him from all sides.

"Get out of my head." He rasped. Spock wasn't looking so good himself; his hands trembled, fingers curving as though he were still reluctant to surrender his grasp. It would be so easy to step forward again and lose himself in the cascade of images, far away from the reality he had been forced to confront mere hours ago. Somehow he knew Spock would permit it, if he just took that one little step. But Jim Kirk had his pride and it had taken enough of a beating to last him a lifetime.

"I am… sorry." Spock offered, genuinely contrite if his shaken tone was anything to go by. Jim could feel regret coiling in the back of his own thoughts, the perfect complement to his shock and bewilderment.

Again Jim battled the urge to reach out a comforting hand. That was what had landed them in this whole mess the first time around, so he was going to keep his hands to himself from now until they parted. Even if he had to fist them in the seams of his pants to resist the compulsion. He swallowed tightly when Spock mirrored the gesture, graceful hands flexing with a strength belied by their graceful appearance. Jim wondered which of them had first imagined those hands all over his body; there had been no discernible boundary between them when they were caught up in the maelstrom.

He was still adjusting to being only Jim Kirk again, complete with that empty space Spock had accidentally carved out for himself so many years ago. For a moment he had felt whole again, and while it was a relief to be certain every thought in head was there by his own design, it also struck him as unutterably lonely now that he knew what it was supposed to be like. There was no protocol for meeting someone whose mere presence was enough to dull the empty ache that had become a part of him since that day nearly ten years ago. Spock's sudden arrival had ripped the bandage from an old wound, one that Jim had spent the better part of a decade valiantly trying to patch up. One more concern to add to an ever-growing list: His sentence, his crew, all the schemes they had worked so hard to perfect about to come to nothing because of his stubbornness.

Yet amidst of all that, somehow he had been reunited with the very Vulcan that had set him on this path. It had to be fate.

Jim swallowed, projecting an air of false bravado that had always been his favored shield in the past: Well, now that we have the introductions out of the way. The words were on the tip of his tongue, deliberately flippant and cold, his customary devil-may-care smile already stealing across his face. Somehow he just couldn't say it. Not with Spock's dark eyes taking in every shift of his expression, all his secrets laid bare between them. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to demand by what right Spock had taken so much from him and how the hell he had sauntered back into Jim Kirk's life and so casually thrown it all into disarray.

A Vulcan stranger he had spoken to for all of ten minutes a decade ago now knew him more intimately than his closest friends.

Yet guilt was a tangible lump in his throat, stifling the recriminations. Neither one of them had asked for this. He damn well held Spock accountable for nearly ripping his sanity to shreds in those first few minutes, but in the end he could feel Spock's shame if he opened himself to that presence even in the slightest. Shame and that feverish desire that had nearly consumed Jim himself.

He swallowed convulsively- the 'nets said Vulcans were prey to some sort of fever that could tax even their extra-human abilities beyond endurance, but Jim had always dismissed those reports as fear-mongering and fodder for some of the more sordid romances Terrans pretended they didn't read. Of course Jim had devoured _stacks_ as a teen, wondering privately if it were connected to that silent knot in the back of his mind, a void that could not have been more there.

In the end, he had never been one for silence."You… how are you here? Why?" Jim's confidence returned as swiftly as he could form the words: "Vulcans aren't even allowed in Terran space without an escort, how did you get here? How many others are with you? D'you have a plan for getting out? "

The sinking feeling in his gut said he already knew the answer to the most crucial of these questions, but he waited nevertheless, waited for the words he dreaded to hear.

Spock was silent a minute too long for Jim's peace of mind, not that peace of mind was a commodity he'd had much of these past few weeks. Then, ever so slowly, he closed the distance between them, perfectly aware of what it cost Jim to stand his ground but unable to do anything other than draw near. For a few precious moments he had felt a return to sanity again; in the shelter of Kirk's thoughts Spock had found reason once more. He feared if the fever took him again he would not be so lucky.

"I am here alone." Spock's shoulders tensed, eyes taking on a glint that Jim didn't trust at all. "For reasons you know."

"I don't." Jim insisted flatly, lying through his teeth and half-hoping speaking the falsehood would make it true. The other half of him, the boy that had been left behind so often he had come to expect it, was reveling in the fact that someone had finally come back for him. Someone needed Jim Kirk badly enough to walk into hell to find him again. The fierce surge of protectiveness took him by surprise; he had watched the Vulcan nearly tear their cell down in a frenzy not long ago, had felt the beginnings of madness in his mind. If there was anyone who should have needed him less, Jim had yet to meet them.

But Spock did need him, badly enough that he was risking not only his own life but that of every Vulcan in his enclave.

Yes, he knew why Spock was here. Nothing could have been concealed from him in that hectic rush of feeling when they had connected. That didn't make Jim any more ready to acknowledge it, because what his instinct was telling him had to be wrong. It was too absurd to be true, the product of a delirious mind after too long spent in solitary with only his own overactive imagination for company.

It still made him nervous though, the way Spock tilted his head, examining Jim as though he were some curious specimen of exotic fauna. The tremors that racked his body were more subdued now, the dark blush that spread down his neck finally fading. He looked half-normal for the first time since they had met, no longer the epitome of Terran anti-Vulcan propaganda. Jim could almost have believed it, if it weren't for that no-longer-ember of awareness that he consciously tried to avoid poking at any longer.

He had spent much of his childhood trying to kindle that bond for curiosity's sake. Now Jim remembered the old Earth adage about curiosity and cats and wondered that he had ever been reckless enough to disregard it.

When Spock spoke again, his voice was firm, brooking no argument. "You do." One brow winged up in question, a mute challenge that soon found its voice: "Do you doubt me?"

He raised a hand and Jim barely stopped himself from skittering back, eying it with blatant distrust. Satisfaction radiated from his cellmate, a nigh feline smugness that raised Jim's hackles. Worse, he could sense the effort it cost Spock not to take that one step farther and deliberately draw Jim in once more. He could do it too; what was a Human's strength against a Vulcan, either physical or mental? Spock wrestled with that compulsion for an eternal minute- it burned in that shard of him still caught in Jim's mind, the insidious whisper of a madness Jim couldn't comprehend. He felt the moment reason reasserted itself- only a fragile tendril, but enough that Spock lowered his hand, enough that Jim could breathe again.

What the hell was wrong with him? Jim nearly asked, but Spock seemed to sense the question dancing on his tongue and sent him such a pleading look Jim knew neither one of them would like the answer.

Retreat, regroup, prioritize. "Doesn't really matter why we're here, we are. I think our most important question is how to get out." His eyes wandered over to the damaged panel, wincing anew at the drying smears of blood. Again, he felt the echo of pain his cellmate was only just becoming aware of and ruthlessly tamped down on his thoughts.

"I think between the two of us we stand half a chance, if you're willing to take it." He tried for a smile, and if it was but a shade of his normal reckless grin then at least Spock wouldn't know it.

Step one: find a way out.

Step two: locate and rescue his crew.

Step three: complete the mission they had set out to do.

Then, and only then, could he afford to consider the mystery that was Spock. One crisis at a time until they were all resolved.

 

 

For all his honorable intentions, Spock could not help but shadow that last thought, following it to the quiet corner of his mate's mind where he kept his closely guarded secrets. Gently, ever so subtly, Spock began to make a place for himself there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vulcan translation is taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary because I lost my hard copy. :(
> 
> http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/
> 
> I'm still not quite satisfied with this chapter, so it will probably be subject to the same treatment as the chapters before, but take this as my promise this fic won't be abandoned!

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit is always welcome and appreciated. :)


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